Last Month in ManageIQ II by Drew: Vignettes

Oh no. Surely they wouldn't have been so foolish as to let d-m-u write yet another one. When will this madness end? They are tempting the very threads of fate herself, letting d-m-u get away with this twice in a row. Who knows what horrors will befall you this time. You shudder. If you are lucky, it will be only physical monsters, not the unearthly disturbances of time and dark and cold that have been evoked with such disasterous results previously. You had held out a smattering of hope that d-m-u's prose might be gentled the way that centuries of water smooth a pebble, but such hope is whisked away with the next thought: you never know, with these texts, if you will exist outside the inky blackness, cursed to only watch as the story dismally unfolds before your eyes, or if you will be a deeply unwilling participant, your agency slave to the whims of an unreliable, mercurial narrator.
You get a short mad lib, brother! And you get a short mad lib! And you...

Hello and welcome! This is the second Last Month in ManageIQ. I am of course the illustrious d-m-u ready to take you on a [adjective] tour of some of the [adjective] [plural noun] we had to the ManageIQ [noun].

Last month we had a [adjective] 111 PRs1 merged into master! Contributions from outside the [adjective] ManageIQ team are of course always [adverb] welcomed.

maps

You are the you of the present, reading in frustration, wanting nothing more than to tear your eyes off the page and get back to the important business of living. She sure is taking her time moving off of this introduction thing or whatever it is, you think. Maybe it is a trap introduction, maybe the introduction is a misrepresentation. Maybe it exists solely to protect copyright. You wonder if the text is to scale, you peer at it from a few different angles, suspicious. Is it a one-to-one transformation? But the text does not answer, no matter how desperately you plead for answers. The phonemes and vowels stay flat and silent and offer your suspicions no tread. You do not have even the safety of a world that lacks e's in this variant. The visual offers no clues, and you wonder how you would know if you were in fact inhabiting the real.

You remember the line. The last one you read, the one that reached out from the page and punched you in the face. Clearly writing that takes no hostages is a mark that your existence in that moment was in the real.